


The Voice in the North

by PetalsAndBullets



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetalsAndBullets/pseuds/PetalsAndBullets
Summary: Ancient legends always depicted the same thing; a hero saving a princess from some evil power. The Gerudo, despite being accused of being the source of the evil, told the same legends again and again. A Princess fled the tower of her own accord, due to evil that existed in her home. Siraga, the Old Wise Woman, taught her students the same story. But there were two students in her group that she knew would change the fate of the world... Forever.
Relationships: Ganondorf/Nabooru (Legend of Zelda), Ganondorf/Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Impa & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Sheik (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue

_What had she done_? She stared at it, panting heavily as her eyes widened in fear as it settled in. The knife in her hand seemed to be like lead, trying to pull her down to the earth, where _it_ was sitting, slumped over in the corner. She hadn’t meant to attack it; she hadn’t meant to draw whatever was oozing out of the hole she left in its chest. Quickly, she glanced over her shoulder to ensure that there were no sounds of approaching guards, nor the sounds of any nosy servants that may have heard the croaked noise that escaped from the thing as she defended herself.

_Shit_.

She wasn’t meant to do that. She knew she wasn’t – there was a reason why any weapons were kept away from her. If it hadn’t been for her guardian, who taught her basic self-defence, she would most likely have been in the same position as the thing before her. It was grotesque, to say the least. Mangled tresses of hair hid its face from her, although she could distinctly see a nose – or was it a snout – protruding from the curtain. She had to leave. Should her father discover what she had done, she’d be locked away even higher, trapped to wait and watch helplessly as life continued without her. Light glimmered under the doorway, pausing for a moment to allow her to catch a better glimpse of the creature before her.

Amid the matted hair, she could take a better look at the liquid oozing from its wounds. It wasn’t red, like that of her own blood. It was a sick green, like an apple that had been left in the sun for too long and rot had begun to eat at its flesh. That colour was only something she had seen in tapestries, or the books her guardian showed her when she was beginning to ask why she couldn’t leave the confines of her home and explore the outside world. She supposed it was a way to deter her, but instead it made her more determined to see what was out there. At least, that was before she discovered that some things from the outside world could get _in_. The window hadn’t been broken, so she had no idea how the creature got in. Had it understood locks, and opened and closed the window behind it before she had returned from the bathroom? Or had it just… Appeared?

Surely there was someone who would know the answer to the appearance of the creature, but it was too dangerous for her to seek such a person. Not while there was a risk of being found. Her eyes roamed from the creature to the window to the door, the light still flickering through the crack under it. Whoever was stood at the door was waiting, now. How long had it been? Time seemed to have stopped or at least crawl by slowly, and Goddess knows how long it would be for the person on the other side of the door to give up waiting and move on. Were they listening? What if they had been the culprit, and they had let the… _Thing_ in? Did they intend for it to murder her as she slept?

“Goddesses help me,” she whispered, before she stepped back from the door and the creature as her hands blindly searched behind herself for something solid to hold onto. She eventually managed to grab onto the bedpost, her nimble fingers securely wrapped around it as an anchor as she thought. There was only a thin sliver of time for her to think of what she was going to do to before whoever – or whatever – waiting outside her door would enter the room, either looking for the creature before her or herself. She had to leave, and the only way for her to leave was the window, lest she wanted to see what the stranger behind her door wanted from her. Immediately, she turned and began to fumble with the window latch, her hands trembling before she managed to unlock the window. Pushing it open, she leaned out and stifled a whimper of fear at the cold breeze that brushed past, tangling the loose strands of her hair before she glanced over her shoulder as the doorknob begun to turn. Clearly, her time was up. The stranger was tired of waiting for their comrade, and she had the choice of leaping to certain death - or meeting her death at the hands of a stranger.

After a moment to gather her courage, she turned and grabbed a white silk scarf, wrapping it securely around her face to obstruct her identity before she stepped onto the windowsill. Her eyes stared out at the flickering lights in the distance, the only sign of life in the darkness that suggested somewhere, someone may be willing to help her. A glance to the west allowed her to see the bright, haunting glow of Death Mountain, and her heart stopped for a moment at the thought of her attendant and guardian. Impa. Would she be safe? The woman was cold, and barely allowed any moment for respite without her crimson eyes focused on her – in sleep or not. What had become of the Sheikah? It was never like her to allow a beast to even consider looking at her – or was it? The sound of the doorknob rattling again drew her attention back to the matters at hand. She was running out of time. She either had to take the chance and stay in her room and hope whoever it was would grant her a quick death or jump and hope the water in the moat below would soften her fall. Perhaps she’d escape with merely a broken leg. But either way, she had to make her decision then and there, and hope it was the right one.

And so, as the heavy oak door swung open, Princess Zelda jumped.

“But Grandmama, that can’t be it! There must have been a hero who came and saved her!” A small cry of indignation escaped from the child sitting on the floor, ignoring the noises of complaints that escaped his siblings as he elbowed his way closer to the front. The old woman, who sat upon a chair that seemed to be a throne, swamping her frail figure, could only let out a breathy chuckle at her grandson’s enthusiasm. It was always her grandson who insisted that there was a hero – and she understood why. Being the only male in his family, he had to have some way of knowing that it wasn’t just the women who could fight. Before she could answer his demanding insistence, the small curtain that acted as the door to her modest hut was lifted, allowing the bright sunlight to flood the room, bar the shadows of the two crones who barely managed to squeeze into the doorway, shoulders pressed together.

Without a word being uttered between the three elderly women, the young boy hesitantly stood, his eyes suddenly taking on a dark glaze that could only be described as cunning. Or evil. The old woman did not know what, but she knew that the influence of the two crones did not help. If anything, she knew they nurtured the evil and allowed it to grow, twisting and warping her precious grandson’s heart. But she knew better. They were there for one purpose, and that purpose was to save their people. At least, she clung to that knowledge, praying to the Goddess of the Sand that his birth would not end the way the fates had prophesised. The way _history_ prophesised. It had been too long for bloodshed, too long for the fates to turn their back on the people of the desert, not when the harvests had been somewhat plentiful and there had been less deaths.

They called her a fool, for believing in that. But she knew. She knew what it would mean, and she prayed that he would believe too, should he be given the chance. Regardless, the old woman allowed him to leave, accompanied by a false smile that her grandson and the two crones believed was to be one of praise. Siraga could only watch as her grandson’s silhouette blocked out the doorway before the curtain fell into place, shrouding the old woman and the other children in the dimmed light bleeding through the gaps left by the ill-fitting cloth. A deep sigh escaped her, and she sank into her seat, and her frail face allowed her fear to show. Her precious grandson had no hope of retribution should he follow the path of his ancestors, and she knew that the two crones would only do more and entrap him in his doomed future. As she turned her head to look at the small group of children, who still stared at her with wide, amber eyes expectantly, a small smile threatened to force its way onto her face. She couldn’t deny the remaining children a chance to ask their own questions – not when it taught the young girls the ways of the world and why their people never strayed too far from the arid temperatures of the desert. After all, these girls would grow and replace their mothers as the protectors, merchants and soldiers of their little town, just as their mothers replaced their own mothers, and their grandmothers replaced their mothers before them. They deserved that, at least. And so, as the old woman sat back and steepled her fingers together to tell the girls yet more stories, she allowed her mind to drift back to her grandson, who had one path only to follow – one who would not be his father’s, nor his grandfather’s. She wondered if he ever wondered about who his father was, and if he ever wondered about his mother – her daughter. When Releme discovered that her fourth child was a son, she fled the town as soon as she had the strength to face the desert and the Sand Goddess’ domain. She was found three weeks later, curled up around the flag post that guided the way to the Sand Goddess’ temple, and that was that. The soldiers deemed that she had frozen to death, but Siraga always believed differently – she wondered if her daughter had ended her own life in fear of being rejected by the town for bringing a male Gerudo into this world. Siraga knew that Releme was punishing herself before her child could rise to be the monster every male before him had become, but in the process granted the two crones more ammunition to use against the young boy.

It hurt to think of her daughter, especially when there were so many small girls looking up at her – some who may not even survive the freezing cold winds or the punishing heat that would leave those who weren’t accustomed to the desert burnt and wincing every movement they made. Guilt then ate at her for thinking of such things when the girls were sat in front of her, as she was almost placing a curse on the young girls herself. At least four of them would die in the coming months, either from starvation or from freezing or burning to death. Another three would pass when they reach adulthood when they start to wander the world in search of husbands - either at the hands of bandits or at the hands of the Goddesses when they are in labour. Siraga's heart ached at the thought, and she closed her eyes briefly before she stood, her legs and back protesting at the sudden decision to stand once more. The two old crones had to be stopped before they took the poor boy to the Grounds; there were plenty of men born before him, and each man came back with rage burning in their eyes. It always unsettled the young and the old women of the tribe, and Siraga couldn't stand the knowledge that it was her own blood that would lead to the doom of their people. She knew that every once in a while, the greed turned to desperation, one that would try and protect the women of the tribe, but it never lasted. The world was simply too cruel. _Hyrule_ was simply too cruel. The King denied them the food needed to allow the women to have a fighting chance, and while relations were improving steadily, it would not be long before such simple necessities were denied again; it happened more than once before. There were scriptures, held in the Chief's building, detailing of every broken promise made by the King of Hyrule and the response by the other races in Hyrule; the Zora and the Gorons typically rolled over and agreed with the King's demands. It always led to accusations of prejudice, but Siraga knew; the Zora and Gorons were _afraid_. They knew that the Hylians were the favoured race - Hylia protected them when Evil first touched the land, sending them up into the safety and sanctity of the sky, while the Gorons and the ancestors of the Zora had to fight for survival under the eye of the Dragons.

The Gerudo never saw the Dragons. Nor did they see Hylia, or any of the other Goddesses. The only Goddess they had was the Goddess of the Sand, a deity who never seemed to appear when her people screamed and begged for her. She was a cruel deity, and her temple was long abandoned; rumours started, saying that the Six Sages had taken control of the temple and turned it into a prison or execution grounds – but even then, the two hags still took the young boy to the grounds. Siraga’s eyes turned to the small girl who hung back, and her lips quivered into a wan smile as she recognised the look in the girl’s eyes. She was no Gerudo; her skin was far too pale, and she didn’t have the agility or ability to withstand the sun the way the Gerudo did. No, she was a Hylian. But the girl had as much determination as a Gerudo, even when she was a baby and could only suckle milk off a fingertip. The hags said she’d starve before the week had ended when she was first brought in, but the girl quickly exceeded expectations and was coming up to her sixth birthday. Siraga couldn’t shake the feeling that the girl was somehow… Important. Somehow. As if she’d have an effect on the town, and potentially her grandson.

“Wise Woman, what _was_ the creature that was released into the Princess’ room?”

Siraga stopped at the question, turning to look at the small girl. Another smile made its way onto her face and she slowly sat back down, leaning back.

“The Royal Family never said. Although I believe one person would be willing to share – the Guardian of the Princess,” Siraga shook her head as the girl opened her mouth, cutting her off, “no. Before you think of asking, she is long dead. And her tribespeople are long gone, too. The only hint we had of them existing was the presence of the village they lived in. But even then, people from the Castle Town migrated and live there. You’d be lucky to find a Sheikah, young lady.” She frowned as the girl only seemed to become more determined, and she watched as the small girl rose to her feet, her green eyes shining in determination.

“I will find the last Sheikah, Wise Woman. And I will learn what the creature is and I will slay one myself.”


	2. The Encampment

It was safe to assume that the guards would be patrolling the borders of the encampment, but that had yet to deter Eiret. The brunette crept forward, dagger held delicately between her teeth as she watched the nearest guard walk past slowly, his face hidden by the shadows of his helmet. She considered the dangers of attacking him then, but considering the campfire in the centre of the crowd of tents was still burning bright, there was a chance their shadows would be spotted. So she waited instead and slunk further into the shadows, and the guard peacefully continued forward. From the corner of her eye, she spotted another shadow move forward from behind a tent, their features obscured by a mask. She smiled when she recognised the fiery hair of Ganondorf, lifting a hand to take her dagger from her mouth before she ducked between the tents and found herself beside the tall man, where she leaned forward to look at what he was watching so intently.

“They’ve not moved for twenty minutes.”

“Maybe they’re asleep?”

“Sitting up?” he snorted and glanced down at her with a quirked brow, before he leaned forward again, one hand rising to lift the skeletal mask from his face. His features, already hardened by age and the pressures of leadership, seemed to contort as he considered their next actions, only to tense and press a hand against Eiret’s mouth to silence her as another shadow passed them.

“It’s too risky. Go find Nabs and tell her we’re withdrawing,” he muttered eventually, and Eiret’s mouth fell open in protest before she silenced herself. Nodding once, she crept further into the shadows before she danced between the tents and the remaining torchlight, grasping the other woman’s shoulder once she reached her.

“Ganondorf’s said it’s too risky. We’re withdrawing.”

Nabooru watched Eiret carefully, her brows furrowed in thought before she relented and closed her eyes, sighing through her nose. After a moment, she raised one hand and let out a shrill whistle, only to freeze at the sound of metal clanking together. The two women turned slowly as they realised that the shadows on the floor were rapidly shrinking, before they were left blinking at the torchlight that illuminated their faces. A soldier, a boy barely of age of 18 summers, was stood before them, and his hand trembled as he fumbled with the hilt of his sword in a hasty attempt to draw it.  
Eiret debated if it was reasonable for her to slice the boy’s throat, but Nabooru beat her to it. In a flash, the older woman was on her feet and had stabbed her own dagger into the exposed flesh of his neck, a slender hand resting on his mouth to silence the gargle that escaped him. Gently, she laid him down and kicked sand onto the torch he had since dropped to stifle the flames, before her sharp gaze landed on the brunette.

“We need to move. It won’t be long before someone comes searching for him, and I don’t want to be spotted again if they do,” she muttered before she slunk into the shadows, her slender figure soon vanishing into the night. After another pause to look at the boy with pity, Eiret gently brushed her fingertips over his eyes before she followed Nabooru.

Once safely outside of the camp and a fair distance, she joined the gaggle of women who were questioning Nabooru on the orders, before she flinched as their harsh interrogation turned to her. The number of questions rapidly increased and she stammered as she struggled to give a good enough reason that she herself didn’t know.

“We fell back because I don’t believe there were just Hylians present,” Ganondorf’s voice rang out and silenced the women, his large hand resting on Eiret’s shoulder gently as if to comfort the young woman.

“What do you mean, there were more than Hylians present? There were no Gorons, and certainly no Zora,” Nabooru snapped in response, and tilted her chin up in defiance at the sharp glare the man sent her.

“I know it’s impossible for Gorons and Zoras to be there, Nabooru. I’m saying that I think the stories the Wise Women told us aren’t as true as they led us to believe. But that is beside the point. We need to leave, before they discover the body you and Eiret have left.”

Eiret opened her mouth to protest, only to shut it again as he turned and strode towards his horse, a great snorting beast, and mounted it without much care. After he sent one final, sharp look at the small group of warriors, they quickly mounted their own animals, aside from Eiret.

“I’ll stay back and act as lookout. I’ll join you once they’ve moved on,” she murmured, and Ganondorf merely nodded before he clicked his tongue and galloped to the west, the rest of Eiret’s comrades following. She watched until their shadows became barely visible in the rising sunlight and turned to squat in the shadows of the trees, her eyes refusing to leave the faint light of the torches of the men in the camp.

For a moment, she wondered what it was like, to be surrounded by more than just women. What it was like to not be the outcast – to be surrounded by those who truly looked like her. It was a foolish thought, really, considering these were the women who had taken her in and raised her when even her own people abandoned her. Her gaze shifted to the faint silhouette of the castle in the background, the waking sun’s rays bouncing off the blue tiles of the roof. 

And for one moment, she allowed herself to wonder what it was like to live in the castle, to be served hand and foot and not be questioned.

Her thoughts quickly abandoned her at the sound of approaching footsteps, and she grabbed her scimitar and turned sharply, prepared to defend herself against the potential attacker, only to relax at the glinting eyes that were undeniably Ganondorf’s.

“It’s been nearly three hours, and you’d not returned. I wanted to ensure you’d not gotten yourself killed,” he muttered in response to her raised brow before he crouched beside her, deftly using his dagger to slice a piece of apple before offering it to her. She rolled her eyes and plucked the piece of fruit from his fingers and brought it to her lips, chewing thoughtfully.

“… Do you think Princess Zelda survived the fall?”

“The fall?”

“Yes, the fall. The one that your Grandmama told us about.”

Ganondorf’s brows furrowed as he tried to remember the tale. Eventually, they rose and he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Eiret, do you know how high her window was? Nobody, not even Nabs, can survive that fall.”

“But she had a Sheikah as a protector.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it does.”

The pair of them stared at each other, both refusing to back down and let the other win until the sound of shouting drew Eiret’s gaze away from Ganondorf’s. She ignored his victorious chuckle in favour of trying to see what the shouting was about, her lower lip falling victim to her teeth. They’d discovered the body. A brief moment of guilt invaded her heart, but at the neutral look that rested on Ganondorf’s face, she swallowed down the feeling and sat back down. He eventually joined her, offering another slice of the apple before he bit into it himself and sat back, his golden eyes refusing to leave the small camp.

“… We had to, you know.”

“I know.”

“He was going to raise the alarm.”

“Eiret. I know. I would have done the same.”

They fell silent again, for a time, before she shivered at the cold breeze that brushed over her. Slowly, she moved closer to him and leaned against his side and closed her eyes as she relished in the warmth he was emitting. He barely reacted, aside from guiding his cape around her to ensure she was also kept warm despite the dropping temperature.

“… Do you think the legends are true, Eiret?”

“What?”

“Do you think that the legends are true? That I’m going to bring ruin to Hyrule?”  
Eiret sat straighter and looked up at Ganondorf, his expression a shadow of the determined man he was.

“Of course not, Gan. You’re a good man. Besides, it’s impossible for the legends to be true. There is no Princess Zelda, remember? There hasn’t been for years.”

Ganondorf merely hummed and returned his gaze to the encampment, and Eiret let him sit in silence.


End file.
